


Hell Is For Children

by DarkHeartInTheSky, lotrspnfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 11, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse (non-graphic), Protective Castiel, SPN Canon Bang 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-09 14:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15269097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/pseuds/DarkHeartInTheSky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrspnfangirl/pseuds/lotrspnfangirl
Summary: Dean is reminded that the worst monsters that stalk the Earth are human when a wraith from his past re-appears.





	Hell Is For Children

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags. This fic deals with dark themes. It's not graphic, and all in the past, but it is there. If you're not comfortable with any of the above, I advise you to click back now.
> 
> Be sure to check out lotrspnfangirl's page to see appreciate her amazing artwork! She went above and beyond what i had expected and I love everything she did! Her art masterpost can be found [Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253116)
> 
> Also thanks to [justholdingstill](https://justholdingstill.tumblr.com/) for being my beta for this fic! She took on a challenge--this fic is not for the faint of heart, and if it weren't for her, there'd be a million typos.

 

The bar was loud; every corner filled with the sounds of the football game on the television, fans cheering or booing obnoxiously at each play, country music over the PA system, pool balls clacking against one another, and people screaming conversations to be heard over all of that. Dean was happy, though. Even if his face hurt, swollen and throbbing, he couldn’t stop smiling, tucked away in a back corner with Sam and Cas, a beer and a plate of fries in front of him. It was all he needed. They had their own corner of the world right there. Just them, nothing else, and that was how Dean liked it.

Another hunt well done and this was how they celebrated. Cold beer and good, greasy food. Even Sam was joining in on the fun—he hadn’t bitched about the location, or Dean’s food choices, was even enjoying an icy beer himself, and Cas was a warm, solid presence beside Dean, their legs just barely touching underneath the table, hidden from sight.

“Good work today, Cas.” Dean tapped his beer glass against Cas’s. A few bottles down and he was already tipsy. He was getting old.  “Always knew that knowing-every-human-language-ever thing would come in handy.”

“You should let me heal you,” Cas said, frowning, raising his two forefingers. Dean waved them away.

“It’s fine. Just a busted lip. I can handle it.” He’d had much, much worse. Besides, he didn’t need Cas to waste his mojo on something like that. It was inconsequential in the grand scheme of the universe. He had his family together: alive, and in one piece. That was all that mattered. The pain barely registered, a low hum in his skull, drowned out by the euphoria of everything.

“You should teach us some of those languages,” Sam said, grinning, dipping a fry in sauce. “I never really got Greek.”

“If you want,” Cas said, still frowning. “Dean—”

“I said it’s fine,” Dean said, without malice. “Seriously. Save your juice for the big stuff, in case we need it.”

Cas did drop it, though reluctantly, frowning, and Sam lured him into conversation about phonetics and syntax of different languages. Dean didn’t listen too closely, but he kept smiling at the easy way Sam and Cas spoke to each other. It was nice for them to have something they could bond over.

One hunt down—they’d head back to the bunker for a day or two of rest until the next one appeared—and Dean looked forward to the down time. There were bad movies to watch, laundry and dishes to catch up on, and his own bed. The bunker had definitely spoiled them. Ever since he got the memory foam, motel mattresses just weren’t good enough anymore. And of course nowhere had water pressure like the bunker.

They sat there for hours. Eventually, the bar started to dwindle down--it was a weekday, after all. The swarms of people gradually disappeared. Dean took Cas to an empty pool table to show him the ropes, while Sam went to hustle darts with a man in a business suit with a slimy grin and a bad comb-over. Cas picked up on the game aggravatingly quick, a slight smile barely turning up the corner of his lips as he broke the balls neatly, getting three into the pockets right away.

“That is so not fair,” Dean said, leaning on his cue.

“It’s just physics,” Cas said, lining up his next shot. He tilted his head and squinted as he surveyed all the angles. He held the pool cue with the same vigor he wielded his sword and his gaze was just as stern. “And trigonometry.”

“It’s just trigonometry,” Dean mocked. He stuck his tongue out. “Not all of us are super angel geniuses.”

“You don’t have to be an angel to be a genius.” Cas took another shot, getting his ball into the back corner pocket. “You’re a genius, Dean.”

Dean gnawed on his lip. A blush ran up his face and he looked down at his shoes. “Shut up.”

“It’s true. There are many things you’re well versed in that I can’t even begin to understand. _Taling for people_ , for one thing.” Dean could hear the air quotes in the phrase. Cas finished knocking all his balls in. He stood up straight and walked beside Dean.

“Not bad for a noob,” Dean said, slapping Cas’s shoulder, staring at the table. “Think you can hustle? Show me your poker face.”

Cas stared at Dean. His gaze burned into the side of Dean’s skull. “We’re playing poker now?”

Dean sighed. “Rack ‘em up. Really think I’m a genius, huh? Then let me teach you the fine art of the hustle. It’s a vital skill--how we used to make all our money years ago. Paid for more than one date when I was a kid.”

Playing pool with Cas was relaxing. Even if Dean barely was able to get a shot in between all of Cas’s, he had fun. It was rare he and Cas were just able to relax, and have downtime like this. Usually, they were too busy fighting to stop Apocalypses to just—hang out and be. And with Lucifer back in the box, Cas okay and not definitely not crazy or possessed, not Lucifer’s meatsuit, Dean hoped they would have more time like this. More time to just relax. More time to do stuff like this.

It was one a.m. when he showed up. Dean didn’t notice his presence at first. He was too invested in another game of pool with Cas, having lost count of what number they were at. The bar was nearly deserted by that point, the surrounding conversations having vanished. Sam came by grinning with a handful of bills from Suit Guy and a bunch of other suckers he lured into playing darts over the last several hours, and he watched, needling Dean endlessly about losing.

“So much for those pro dreams, huh?” Sam snickered as Dean scratched.

“Shut up,” Dean said, lining up his next shot.

“Sam Winchester?” the voice said, shattering Dean's dreams. Dean recognized it instantly. Ice spilled through his blood, freezing his bones. His mind jolted like it’d been burned. He jacked up the shot, ripping straight through the felt with the cue, knocking balls off the table onto the floor, where they clattered and rolled to all ends of the bar. Dean sucked in a stabbing breath of cold air and choked, sputtering.

“Eli?” Sam said. He laughed. “Holy shit. Eli Webster? That you?”

Dean swallowed. The hair on his arms stood ramrod straight. Slowly, he forced himself up straight, white-knuckling the cue and leaning against it.

 

 

 

“Well, look at little Sammy Winchester,” Eli said, grinning. “Always knew you’d grow up to be a weed.” He still had that thick Tennessee accent. Still wore a pair of worn crocodile-leather boots and an army green jacket. Sam huffed and rolled his eyes at the _Sammy_ , but he kept grinning.

“What’s it been?” Sam said. “Like, twenty-years?”

“Bit longer,” Eli said. “Last I saw you, you were just a tiny little thing. Still in middle school, I think, playing magic tricks. My god, it is good to see you, Sam, Dean. I’ve heard a lot about you boys these last few years.”

Sam clicked his tongue. “Yeah. I’ll bet,” he said, lip twitching sardonically.

Dean couldn’t move. His bones were frozen solid under his skin. Even breathing was a struggle. Cas was looking at him. Dean could feel Cas’s curious gaze digging under his skin.

Sam turned and gestured to Cas. “Eli this is Castiel. Cas, Eli. He—he was a friend of our dad’s.”

Eli stuck his hand out. “Castiel, huh? You must be the angel I’ve heard about through the grapevines. Well, don’t worry. Angel or no angel, a friend of the Winchesters is a friend of mine.”

Cas stared at Eli’s hand before he stuck out his own. Eli shook, doing all the work. Cas’s arm was stiff as a log. “Always a pleasure to meet a friend of the Winchesters’,” Cas said, but his voice was clipped. Observant. Colder than it usually was with strangers.

Eli frowned, something strange swimming in his eyes, before turned to Dean.

He was older. Of course he was older. It had been over twenty-years, and the last several years had been rough on hunters in particular: demons, angels, Leviathan all over the place. But in Dean’s mind, he always stayed the same. Same brown eyes. Same crooked front teeth. Same freckles across his nose. Now, he had lines all over his face--by his eyes, perpendicular to his nose. His hair was gray all over, in his beard and eyebrows, and his teeth were yellow with tobacco. He had a faded scar down his cheek, and his nose painfully purple and crooked.

“There’s the man himself,” Eli said, grinning. “Dean Winchester. You look good, son.”

“Thanks,” Dean said flatly. His heart hammered against his rib cage, lungs over inflated. He felt like he was going to cry.

_Nut up, Winchester_ . _Nut the fuck up_.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked. Eli looked away from Dean, and Dean was glad. His stomach twisted into hot, tight knots. He felt like he was going to puke, bile already burning at the back of his throat.

And Cas was still staring at him. Just as intensely.

“Reading the papers, sounded like there was a shifter in these woods.”

“We took care of it,” Dean snapped. His hands trembled.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Finished the hunt this evening, actually. We were out celebrating.”

“Oh,” Eli said. “Well, that’s just as good. Doesn’t matter who gets the son of a bitch as long as he gets got, right?”

“Sorry,” Sam said, shrugging.

“There’s always another hunt.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Sam turned to Dean. “Hey, you know, we should show Eli the bunker.”

“What?” Dean whispered, barely able to get the words out.

“Yeah! We’ve got all sorts of neat stuff we should show him. New ways to battle bad guys. Great books on lore.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m sure Eli’s got better things to do—”

“Actually,” Eli said. “I don’t have anything now that my hunt has apparently been cancelled. I’d love to see your guys’ place. Sounds interesting.”

Dean trembled.

“Great,” Sam said. “I can ride with you, show you the way. It’s literally out in the middle of nowhere.”

Dean’s ears rang. He zoned out the rest of the conversation, hyper focused on his breathing. Eli and Sam’s mouths were moving, but he couldn’t make out the sounds. And Cas was still staring at him, straight to his soul.

His stomach jolted. He dropped the pool cue and suddenly his feet were moving. He pushed past Sam, sucking his shoulders close to his body so he wouldn’t touch Eli, and then raced to the bathroom. He locked himself in the stall and bent over the toilet, retching. Bile burned at his esophagus. His stomach twisted into a hot, heavy knot with each heave. Sweat pooled on his forehead, and when he was done vomiting, stomach void of everything he’d just consumed, he fell to his knees, arms braced against the lid, shaking. He tried to catch his breath. Tried to control it: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

_Get the fuck over it_ , _Winchester_ . _It was over twenty years ago! You’re not a kid anymore!_

Dean hadn’t thought about it for a long time. It’d been locked away in deep, dark corner of his mind, buried underneath all the shit that needed to be dealt with immediately. But now, everything was hitting him like a tsunami. All the emotions he’d shoved deep down, far away, were resurfacing all at once. It was an oncoming wave and he couldn’t do anything to stop it--he was being swept away by the intensity of it all. He spat and swallowed. The door opened. Cas’s footsteps walked up to the stall and he gently knocked on the door.

“Dean?”

“I’m fine,” Dean said, but his voice cracked. “Think I got food poisoning.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Risk of bar food, man.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just give me a minute,” Dean said. His stomach was still in knots, but it was empty, even if it felt like a rock was resting at the very bottom. Slowly, Dean pushed himself to his feet. His knees buckled at first, He spat and flushed the toilet. Then, he slowly fumbled with the lock on the stall.

Cas waited by the sinks, hands in his pockets. Dean washed his hands, deliberately making the water too hot.

Cas put his fingers to Dean’s forehead.

“Hey!” Dean tried to swat Cas’s hand away, but Cas just frowned, and pressed harder.

“You do have a fever,” Cas said, frowning. “Were you feeling ill earlier?”

“Just hit me out of nowhere,” Dean said. He dried his hands on his pants. “I’m fine. Food just didn’t agree with me.”

Cas kept looking at him. “Sam really seems to like Eli.”

Just the sound of his name made Dean queasy. Hearing it out of Cas’s mouth though was a new method of torture. He inhaled through his mouth, then huffed. “Yeah. Kid used to think the guy was hot shit back in the day. Surprised to see he’s still alive, actually.”

_Disappointed. Horrified._

“Was he a good friend of your father’s?”

Dean thought back to the last time John and Eli interacted. “You could say that.”

The bathroom door was the only barrier between Dean and that man. Before he went to Hell, his nightmares were just filled with images of Eli. His voice, face, hands. After the last time Dean saw him, he’d never heard of him again. And since hunters had such short lifespans, he never thought he’d see Eli again, either. Figured Eli would just join the list of hundreds of other hunters that died in the game; no family, no one to remember him by. A body in the morgue never claimed, doomed to rot in an unmarked grave--no less than he deserved.

But Dean remembered.

Cas looked at the door. “We should let them know you’re okay.”

Dean swallowed. “Okay.” The journey to the door seemed like a thousand miles to cross. Cas held open the door as Dean moved his feet, slowly. They were full of lead.

Sam and Eli were still by the pool table, beers in hand. Sam’s face lit up when he saw Dean.

“Hey,” Sam said. “You okay? What’d you run off for?”

“Food poisoning,” Dean said, struggling to keep his eyes away from Eli. He picked at a hangnail on his thumb.

“You good to drive?”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean said.

“Okay. If you’re sure. But, if it gets bad, just let Cas drive okay? I get it, the Impala’s your baby, but Cas is a good driver, and you’re not gonna do any good driving sick.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I’ll be with Eli, so I can show him the way.”

He was coming to Dean’s house. An invader into the den of Dean’s home and safety.

Dean opened his mouth, but he couldn’t force his objections out. He’d be a selfish dick if he didn’t let Eli come with them. Unless he told the truth. And that wasn’t going to happen.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Well, then, uh, Cas and I are going to hit the road.”

“We’ll be right behind you,” Sam said.

“Catch up with you later, Dean,” Eli said, and he winked.

Dean turned hot on his heels, rubbing his face. He grabbed Cas’s coat sleeve. It was warm, soft and solid underneath his fingertips. Cas’s presence underneath it was another layer of protection. Cas followed willingly, matching Dean’s gait.

It was cold outside. Dean’s breath was visible, curling upwards towards the sky. He got into the driver’s seat and breathed into his palms, shivering, as Cas got into the passenger seat.

“You seem stressed.”

Dean exhaled. “I just wanna get back to my bed.”

And for the first time since they discovered the bunker, Dean would make use of the lock on his door.

.

.

.

 

Cas knew something was up. Dean knew Cas knew. Cas kept staring at him in that sad, quizzical way of his. Thankfully, Cas, unlike Sam, knew when to back the hell off. Dean told Cas to drop it, so Cas dropped it. Cas wasn’t happy about it, but as long as he shut up and left it alone, Dean didn’t care.

They got back to the bunker during the early hours of the morning. Dean’s back ached. He was getting too old for these late-night drives. He parked the Impala in the garage, and went to his bedroom. He didn’t bother showering, or brushing his teeth. He stripped and quickly changed into sleepwear. He locked the door, and jiggled the knob, just to make sure it stuck.

Dean gulped. He lay down in bed, fingers clenched around the bedsheets. He put his face into his pillow and tried to regulate his breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

He didn’t get any sleep.

.

.

.

“Dean?” Cas knocked on his door at noon. Dean had been laying in bed, restlessly, the entire morning. “Can you open the door?”

Dean forced himself to sit up. His muscles were stiff. He waited by the door an extra few seconds before he unlocked it, opening it just a crack.

He glanced out. It was just Cas. Some of the tension left. Dean opened the door wider and motioned for him to come inside. Cas walked over the threshold and Dean closed the door behind him.

“Are you still ill?”

“I’m fine,” Dean said. His mouth was dry. He stunk.

“Sam made breakfast.”

Dean snorted. “That supposed to get me out of here? New life lesson, sunshine: The only thing more sketchy than a guy named Don is Sam’s cooking.”

“Would you please come out? Sam’s starting to get worried.”

Cas gave him the puppy dog eyes.

Goddamn Sam for teaching him that. Dean inhaled. He shook his wrists. Eli would be there. But so would Cas. And so would Sam.

_You’re not fucking fourteen anymore. Man the fuck up._

“Let’s go show Sam there’s nothing to worry about.” Dean gave his best fake grin, but Cas didn’t smile back.

.

.

.

Dean followed Cas into the kitchen. The aroma of bacon, French toast, and scrambled eggs made his stomach gurgle. Sam and Eli were at the table, hot cups of coffee in front of them.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Eli said. “Dean, you look like shit.”

“Feel like it,” Dean said. He poured himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t look at Eli.

“You still sick?” Sam asked.

“I’m fine,” Dean said. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

“This place is amazing,” Eli said. “Sam was showing me around earlier. You’ve got books here from the Dark Ages! From all over the Middle East!”

“I know,” Dean said. He added sugar to his coffee and a liberal amount of milk. “Who do you think organized all them?”

“Eat something,” Sam snapped.

Dean walked to the table and snatched a piece of bacon off the plate. He bit off a large bite and chewed on it. “Is this bacon or a leather shoe?”

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam said. Dean washed down the food with his coffee.

“Whatever, bitch,” Dean said. He shoved the last of the bacon in his mouth, and chewed on it slowly and thoroughly. “I’m gonna shower, and then Cas and I are gonna go out.”

“You are?” Sam said at the same time Cas said “We are?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “You and Eli can. . . hang out. Do nerd stuff.”

“And what’re you and Cas gonna do?”

“Grocery shopping. Cas, be ready in twenty.” Dean finished the last of his coffee without tasting it and set the cup down. He walked into the bathroom and showered, turning the water hot. He stayed under the spray, arms braced against the tiled wall. Steam filled the room, so thick, Dean couldn’t see in front of him. He stayed there until the water began to turn cold, then he finally got out. Goosebumps marred his skin. He dressed in jeans and a plain tee shirt. His hair was dripping wet, but he didn’t do anything about it. Normally he would’ve dried it, gelled it up some, but the idea of dressing up made his stomach twist and his throat burn.

 

 

Cas was waiting outside.

“You ready?”

“Yes,” Cas said.

“Good,” Dean said. He heard Sam and Eli. They were in the library. Sam was talking about some other books. “Let’s go,” Dean said.

.

.

.

“How are we on milk?”

“I don’t know.”

“Eggs?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do we at least have peanut butter?”

“Dean,” Cas, said, exasperated, rolling his eyes, “I don’t eat. I don’t know what we have, what we don’t have, how much we have left.”

“Right. Right. Sorry.” Dean pushed the cart forward, the wheels squeaking obnoxiously as he strolled down the aisle.

“You’re stressed,” Cas said, poking at the various items on the shelves. He seemed enamored with a box of Honey Buns.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Cas put the box back on the shelf and poked at various other brightly colored sweets. “Eli’s making you upset, isn’t he?”

Somehow, hearing his name out of Cas’s mouth, was worse than hearing it out of anyone else’s mouth.

“I don’t like other hunters,” Dean said. “Dad never liked ‘em either. And you know what? He was right to stay away. Except for Bobby, he didn’t work with other hunters. And you know, he and Bobby had a huge falling out anyway. We stayed far away from other hunters.”

Cas frowned. He followed Dean down the rest of the aisle. Dean grabbed a box of Twinkies and tossed them in.

“When I worked at the Gas N Sip, people always bought those. Personally, I didn’t understand the appeal. It’s nothing but processed sugar.”

“Don’t shit on Twinkies, man. They’re a hunter’s life blood.”

“I preferred pork rinds.”

Dean scrunched his nose in disgust. “If anyone asks, I don’t know you.”

“They’re at least healthier than Twinkies.”

“They’re the parts of the pig literally no one else wants.”

“I’ve seen you eat some questionable things.”

“That should tell you how bad pork rinds are.”

Cas squinted and frowned. Dean huffed in humor.

“C’mon,” Dean said, throwing the bags of pork rinds in the cart.  “If I don’t get at least some vegetables while we’re out, Sam’ll throw a bitch fit.”

When Cas was around, even mundane things like grocery shopping were enjoyable. His blasé commentary on everything brought humor to the task. And if it kept Dean out of the bunker, away from Eli, he was all for it.

“You wanna catch a movie?” Dean put the bags in the Impala’s backseat. There was no room in the trunk; it was still full of weapons and dirty laundry from their last hunt. “You know, there’s these new movie theatres that are like, dinner and a movie in one. You can get pizza, or burgers, brought to you while you watch the movie.”

“But—”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t eat. But I do. And I think, if I wanna have an overpriced burger with my movie instead of overpriced popcorn, that’s what I’ll do.”

“If that’s what you want,” Cas said, taking the cart to the nearby cart return station.

“Great,” Dean said. His brain lagged, and when it finally caught up to him what he’d actually said, he blushed. _Dinner and a movie_.

He shook his head. _Get it together, Winchester_. He closed the backdoor and pulled the keys out of his pocket. Whatever gave him an excuse to stay out of the bunker for another few hours, he’d take. Whatever would let him and Cas have this quality time they rarely got. Netflix binges were great, but Sam was there. Even if he wasn’t in the room, watching the movie with them, he was there in the bunker, his presence heavy; enough to scare Dean from doing anything more.

Someday, he told himself. When the time was right, when the moment came. He always figured he’d _know_ when the right moment--lightning would strike him and everything would be just right.

The time had never come. There was always too much going on: Apocalypses, angelic civil wars, the Darkness, Lucifer. Yet even now that all the dust had settled, it still didn’t feel right. Dean always figured he’d know when the right moment came--maybe a firework would go off in his brain that would scream: “Now, you idiot!” Like in the movies, there’d just be this spark, and there would be no hesitation, no doubt.

For now, though, he could be happy with just this. Just hanging out with Cas quietly, enjoying movies, popcorn, burgers. After having almost lost him so many times, Dean was beyond grateful just for this. Having Cas here, beside him, even just to go grocery shopping. He’d put up with Cas’s bitching, the eyerolls. He’d enjoy it. If it never went beyond this, Dean could still be content. Sam and Cas were his family. He just needed them here and alive and he could be okay. Happy, even.

But he still would wait for that right moment to come.

.

.

.

The movie theatre was barren. The ticket salesmen looked bored, scrolling on her phone when they came in and looked at what was offered. Dean nudged Cas with his elbow.

“Hey, you wanna see _Fifty Shades of Grey_?”

The ticketter’s eyes went wide and she snorted. Cas frowned.

“You sure that’s what you want?” she asked, staring at them studiously.

“If that’s what you want, Dean,” Cas said.

Dean blushed. The heat went all the way up to his ears. Sam would never let him live it down if he knew Dean took Cas to see what was essentially just softcore porn. But in his defense, he hadn’t been planning on taking Cas to see this movie. And they weren’t going for the porn--they were going because it was a sucky movie and Dean loved sucky movies. And anything that gave him an excuse to spend extra time with Cas.

“We’ll take it,” Dean said, grinning.

They were the only people in the theatre. Dean led Cas to the exact center of the room. The seats were leather and they reclined all the way back.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he said, kicking his feet up on the little table in front of them. There was a menu sitting on top. Dean grabbed it and flipped through. “What’re you feeling? Burgers, nachos?”

“I don’t eat,” Cas snapped.

“More for me then.” When the waiter came by, Dean ordered the large nachos. He didn’t have to worry about being too noisy as he ate, didn’t have to worry about snorting too loud. Even in the dim light of the theatre, he could see Cas frowning and tilting his head. Dean couldn’t bear to watch the sex scenes. He looked away, face burning and throat uncomfortably tight. He even covered his face with his hands at a couple of scenes. Cas leaned in close to him.

“I thought friends didn’t watch porn with one another.”

Friends might. Friends that had known each for a long time, friends that had longed reached a level of comfort that watching porn was funny and not uncomfortable or awkward.

But he and Cas….they weren’t just friends.

Suddenly this seemed like a stupid idea. And Cas was still waiting for an answer, eyes wide and full of worry. The movie kept on going, the sounds suddenly seeming twice as long as they were a moment ago.

“Really, really good friends might,” Dean said. The words pained him to say. “And, besides. We’re not like most friends. We can break the rules every now and then.”

Cas smiled slightly--that slight curve of the lip he did--a Cas smile. The kind of smile only Dean got to see. Dean’s heart swelled. The movie kept on playing.

But Dean found he wasn’t watching the movie. Instead, he was watching Cas.

 

.

.

.

They walked out of the movie theatre, the sun shining into their eyes.

“Remember, we do not tell Sam a word of this.”

“Frankly, I’m trying to forget it myself.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Dean said, stretching his arms.

“It was pretty bad.”

“Shut up. We had fun, at least, right?”

Cas smiled again. Dean grinned too. Two Cas smiles in a few hours--that was better than winning the lottery.

“Still, we should get back home. Sam and Eli must be wondering where we are.”

And just like that, Dean’s intestines knotted and turned into stone. Having such a great afternoon with Cas, he’d actually forgotten that Eli was there. In the bunker. Chumming it up with Sam. And there was nothing Dean could do.

And now they had to go back. Because Cas was right--Sam would be wondering where they were. The idea of having to see Eli again was nauseating.

But he wasn’t a coward.

He wasn’t.

“Yeah,” Dean said, licking his lips. “Let’s go.”

.

.

.

“There you guys are,” Eli said, grinning. “We were starting to think we’d have to send a search team after ya.”

Dean and Cas carried in the groceries. Dean kept his back turned to Eli the entire time he loaded the groceries into the fridge.

“Store was busy,” Dean said.

“Well, it’s good you guys are back,” Sam said. “Eli and I maybe found a case.”

Dean swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Oklahoma. This neighborhood has been struck by ‘suspicious activity.’”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that to sell me.” Dean slammed the fridge door shut. He looked for something to busy himself with so he wouldn’t have to face Eli.

“One woman’s entire head of hair fell out all at once in the shower, a man gained thirty pounds overnight, one family’s dog lost its bark, another family’s marijuana garden completely vanished--keep in mind, this is all the same neighborhood.”

“Sounds like some pissy HOA witch.”

“That’s what I was thinking, Dean,” Eli said.  

Dean chewed on his lip. “You gonna go after her?”

“We can go together,” Sam said. “It’ll be like the good old days.”

Dean’s stomach twisted. _What good old days_ he wondered? The good old days were before Mom died. And he no longer had any tangible memories of those days. He knew what life had been like, but he couldn’t remember them anymore. When he thought about the days before Mom died, it was like he was just a witness to his own life; like he was only watching a movie.

Dean swallowed. “Four guys for one witch? Kinda overkill, don’t you think?”

“What else you got going on?” Eli said. “More grocery shopping?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” Dean mumbled.

Cas stood beside Dean, hand hovering next to Dean’s. Dean couldn’t look at Eli, so he looked at Cas instead. Cas’s eyes were steely, that warrior glean shining in them, studying Eli.

“C’mon, Dean,” Sam said, closing his laptop. “It’ll be fun! And anyway, we can’t let the witch keep going on. I mean, she hasn’t seriously hurt anyone yet, but she could soon.”

Dean kept looking at Cas. Cas met his eyes, and somehow, staring at Cas’s gaze, he found strength. He inhaled slowly. “Okay,” he said, in an exhale. “Be ready to go in an hour.”

.

.

.

They met Eli when Dean was fourteen. First, it was a vampire hunt in Knoxville, Tennessee, during the rainy season. An abandoned distillery was the nest hideout. Dean walked steadily behind his father, machete tight in his grip, knuckles white and sore. It was too quiet in the building. Not even the sounds of crickets, or the wind outside could be heard. It elevated Dean’s anxiety. He wanted to do good on this hunt for Dad. Dad was counting on him. Dad trusted him.

 

He stepped and the floorboard creaked. Dean winced. John stopped in front of him, shoulders tense. John held high above his head a baseball bat with barbed wire wrapped around it.

           

The vampire came out of nowhere. It rushed at Dean, knocking him straight to the ground. Dean screamed. The machete was knocked out of his hand, and it skidded across the floor, slamming against the wall. The monster held Dean down, hissing—it’s teeth were wild; yellowed and sharp, and coming towards his neck. Dean kicked wildly, tried to get out from under the monster’s grip, but he wasn’t strong enough.

           

John smashed the bat against the vampire’s head. It knocked the monster off Dean, blood cascading down on him, but it was still alive. Dean scrambled on all fours in the opposite direction, panting. John went after the monster, ready to hit again.

           

And then the second vampire jumped down from one of the grain silos. It wrapped its arms around Dean’s neck. Dean froze in fear, tears threatening to spill.

           

“Lookie here,” the vampire whispered in Dean’s ear. “Fresh meat.”

           

Then, the grip was gone and Dean dropped to the ground. Blood spilled on top of his head. It was hot and slimy. Dean could do nothing but sit there, mortified. The body dropped right in front of him, head completely gone.

           

“Dad?” Dean said.

           

“Not quite.”

 

            Eli was Dad’s age. He had a wide grin, holding Dean’s machete. He reached down and stuck out a hand. “You okay, kid?”

 

            “Dean!”

 

            John raced forward.

 

            “I’m okay,” Dean said. Shame colored his face and he couldn’t look at his dad. He wanted to make his dad proud, and instead, he’d been a coward. John reached out and roughly pulled Dean behind him, shielding Dean with his body.

           

“Who the hell are you?” John growled.

           

The man smiled. “I’m Eli. Nice to meet you too.” He kept looking at Dean. It sent shivers down Dean’s spine in a way he couldn’t explain. There was something more predatory in that look than the vampire’s grip. Eli wiped the machete off on his pants. “Not to tell you how to do your job, but, uh, I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring your kid on hunts.” Eli grinned.

           

John huffed. “Thank you,” he said. He stuck his hand out. Eli shook it. “John Winchester. This is Dean.”

 

“Nice to meet you, John. Dean.” Eli focused his gaze on Dean.

 

Dean hated the way Eli said his name. He pressed himself closer to his dad, wishing he could disappear. But Eli kept looking at him.

           

Dean hated him

.

.

.

.

 

Smoke filled the room; thick and gray, so much so Dean couldn’t see his own nose. He covered his nose and mouth with his elbow and coughed. He had to close his eyes--the smoke made them burn. They started to water and streak down his cheek.

“Sam?” he called, trying to waft away the smoke. He couldn’t see or hear his brother and anxiety swelled in his gut. “Sammy?” Dean moved forward, one hand outstretched in front of him, feeling for walls, or for his brother. Slowly, the smoke began to evaporate, and the room came back in sight. Dean wiped his head around, but he already knew the witch was gone. He could feel it in the atmosphere.

The smoke cleared some more. And then he saw Cas. He was more than a full foot shorter, eyes seemingly too large for his face, clothes hanging off his body awkwardly; he was drowning in them. Cas looked at his hands--the sleeves of his shirt and coats hung off them, bunching up at the elbows. He looked like a little kid playing dress up in his dad’s clothes.

 

Dean remembered that spell a witch cast on him once; the witch that liked to eat children. Cas looked like he was twelve.

 

“Oh my god,” Sam said. “What the hell?” Sam moved towards Cas, getting down on his knees. “Cas, you okay?”

 

Cas’s trench coat bundled up on the ground at his feet. His pants and boxers fell off entirely, resting around his ankles. Cas pulled the coat across his chest to cover himself up. He kept staring at his hands.

 

“I think so,” Cas said. Dean was still frozen in place.

 

“This sucks ass,” Sam said, looking forlornly to the dusty ceiling.

 

“I don’t know, Sam,” Eli said, grinning. Dean knew that grin; snakish, pointed teeth that seemed nearly inhuman. “I think he’s kinda cute.”

 

Those words did something to Dean. Snuck deep under his skin, inside his bones and sent electricity through his marrow. An animalistic instinct was turned on. Dean broke out of his stupor. He raced towards Cas before Eli could even think of taking a step. He picked up Cas and ignored Cas’s angry, animal growl.

 

“Dean Winchester, put me down!”

 

“Shut up,” Dean said, never taking his eyes off Eli. He panted, throat hot and tight with fear and anger. Eli and Sam stared at him. Cas swore in Enochian right beside his ear, a diatribe of harsh, guttural consonants, all of it meaningless to Dean, squirming to be let go, but Dean kept his grip firm. Like this, Cas was surprisingly easy to subdue. Dean realized belatedly that Cas wasn’t just shorter--for Dean to so easily overpower him, Cas’s grace must have been affected too. As that fact sunk in, Dean tightened his grip, aware of Eli’s curious glare.

 

“Dean, put him down,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “He’s not a baby.”

 

“I’m good,” Dean said. He ignored Cas still swearing right by his ear, kicking his legs, but he could handle it. He’d take wounding Cas’s pride over---

 

He wouldn’t take the risk. The alarm bells still rang in his head. Those words, from that mouth. . . after all these years, they still caused such a wild, visceral reaction. Dean’s heart pounded against his chest, rattling his ribs. He couldn’t let Cas go. Never. Not with Eli right there. Not when Eli said what he said. “How ‘bout we head back to the motel and then start the search for Elphaba?”

.

.

.

 

The fever started on the drive. Eli and Sam sat in the front, Dean in the back with Cas, and with Cas sitting beside him, this close, Dean felt the heat radiating off his body. Five minutes later, Cas started shivering violently enough to rock the seat. His teeth chattered.

 

“What the hell’s wrong?” Dean asked, pressing the back of his hand against Cas’s forehead. It was insanely hot. Inhumanely hot.

 

“I don’t feel well.”

 

“Is it the spell?” Sam asked, glancing at them through the rearview mirror.

 

“My grace is very hot.”

 

“Shit,” Dean said, gritting his teeth. It wasn’t bad enough Cas got Benjamin Buttoned--now he had to get sick too? Dean exhaled. He had to keep calm. For Cas. For Sam. He had to keep calm so he wouldn’t break down in front of Eli. “It’ll be okay,” he told Cas. “We’ll get to the motel. If you’re sick, well, we’ll deal with it. I’ve seen worse than a bad stomach flu. We’ll gank the witch and get you back up to speed in no time.”

 

Cas leaned toward Dean. Dean flinched at first--god, Cas was scorching--but he quickly relaxed, wrapping his arm around Cas’s shoulders to hold him into place.

 

Eli was looking at them in the mirror. Dean swallowed, but he met Eli’s eyes and he didn’t look away. Eventually, Eli did.

 

It was a small victory. But to Dean, it felt like David defeating Goliath.

 

.

.

.

 

“Can I try again? It’ll work this time, I promise!”

“Give it up, Sam. You’re not going to be a magician.”

“You shut up.” Sam shuffled the deck clumsily and then fanned out the cards. “C’mon, Dean, pick a card.”

 Dean sighed, but he humored Sam. Eli and John kept talking.

 “You up for joining us, Dean?” John asked.

 “Huh?” Dean looked up, Sam’s card still in his hand.

 “I think you’re ready to join us on this hunt. Seems pretty easy.”

“Wendigos are crafty sons of bitches,” Eli said, picking a fry off the platter.

 “Dean’s ready for it, I think,” John said.

 “I am? But Dad—I, I screwed up the vampire hunt.”

 “Dean—c’mon, Dean put the card back.”

"You made a mistake,” John said sternly, but not unkindly. “You learned from it. Next time, you won’t make that same mistake. Right?”

Dean flushed, then grinned. “Yes, sir.”

 “Good,” John smiled. It was so rare that John smiled these days; it was a gift Dean won, and it filled him with pride. “Wait here while I hit the head.” John slide out of the booth. Sam kept whining again about the card. Dean rolled his eyes and slide it back into the deck, watched as Sam shuffled it again, the cards unruly inside the deck.

Eli’s hand was on his thigh. His thumb caressed the inner part of Dean’s thigh. Dean froze. Eli’s hand moved sideways. He squeezed Dean’s groin. Dean’s knee jerked up, hitting the table. It shook the entire table. Sam slipped up shuffling, and all his cards spilled over the table.

“Dean!” Sam cried.

 Dean’s face flushed for an entirely different reason. He swallowed. Eli’s hand stayed where it was, fingers caressing Dean’s thigh.

 “Here, Sam,” Eli said. “Let me show you another trick.”

.

.

.

 

Castiel was so small. Hardly an angel of the Lord like this, swathed in blankets, fingers curled around the fabric, sleeping restlessly.

 

Dean’s leg wouldn’t stop shaking. He swallowed and exhaled, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Cas. He was hyper aware of everything going on behind him. Every minute movement Eli was making. Shifting through books, organizing his duffel bag, cleaning his gun. Dean had to pee, but he wouldn’t dare leave Cas alone with Eli, not even for the thirty seconds it would take. Dean folded his hands together, glanced at the ceiling and sighed. There was no one he could pray to. Not when the only being he had, and would, ever pray to was right in front of him, trapped in the body of a twelve year old, and sicker than Dean had seen anyone in a long time.

           

Sam needed to hurry his ass up and come back from the store.

 

“Dean,” Eli said, after nearly half an hour of tense, pulsating silence. “You need to relax.”

 

“I am relaxed,” Dean said. Cas’s eyes rolled underneath his eyelids. His fingers twitched, nails scraping against the vinyl pillow case. Dean wondered what he was dreaming about. Did angels even dream? Dean hoped it was a good dream. There were too many awful things in Cas’s past to make up nightmare material.

 

“He’ll be fine.” Eli stepped closer.

 

Dean’s breath caught in his lungs. “I know.” Cas was a tough son of a bitch, had survived all sorts of travesties and injuries Dean didn’t want to think about. Comparatively, this was hardly a scratch; but Dean wasn’t going to leave him alone. Not with Eli in the room.

Another footstep. “Why don’t you take a load off? You haven’t peeled your eyes off him since he laid down. He ain’t going anywhere. Go to bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

 Dean felt his blood pressure skyrocket. His chest hurt; it felt like someone was squeezing his heart. Eli stepped closer again. Dean saw his hand out of the corner of his eye. He jerked forward, closer to the bed.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Dean growled. It was a fight to keep his voice low; a fight not to scream. Every gram of will power he had in his bones had to be pulled to the surface to keep his voice a low, harsh whisper that tore at his throat. He didn’t want to wake Cas. “If you touch me—if you even think about touching _him_ —I’ll fucking kill you. Rip that hand off and shove it so far up your ass it’ll hit your teeth.”

Eli’s hand slowly dropped. Then, he huffed.

“You’re still upset about that?” There was a familiar roughness to his voice. A familiar tone. “Dean, that—that was twenty years ago. I think I’ve paid my dues on it.”

Dean’s eyes burned. Bile scorched his esophagus. It was the same as the insidious voice in his head; that sinister whisper. Dean gnawed on his lip until he could taste blood, and curled his hand into a tight fist, nails biting into his palms. He envisioned just turning around and knocking Eli out. Kicking his teeth in. Kicking and punching and clawing and never stopping.

But he didn’t want to wake Cas.

And he couldn’t make himself move. Frozen in fear, like a coward. He stayed in that seat and kept his eyes glued to Cas. He could do this, at least. Protect Cas from this sort of monster. The only solace he found in his pain was that granule of truth. That, and the fact that this monster never had the opportunity to lay a hand on Sam. Sam never knew this pain.

           

Eli snorted. Dean knew he was rolling his eyes. “God. You are worse than a woman, aren’t ya? It’s not like I hurt you. Hell, I got hurt _because_ of you. I know you were in the car that night. Know you saw everything that happened.”

_You did hurt me. At the time, that was the worse I’d ever been hurt._

It was Hell before Dean went to Hell. He rocked anxiously. Goosebumps rose on his skin. Where the hell was Sam? He began to chew on his cuticle.

 

            “I think you should go,” Dean said. _Go far away._ Cas shifted in his sleep, face pinched into something Dean couldn’t read. Cas was so small. Dean wondered if he had ever been that small. Had Dad looked at him, and seen what Dean saw right now when he looked at Cas?

 

            And Dad still put a gun in Dean’s hand. Still trusted Dean to watch his back.

 

            Dean swallowed thickly. He wanted to reach out, soothe whatever turmoil Cas was suffering—but he couldn’t move. Not when Eli was still right over him. Dean felt like a cornered animal.

 

            Eli was right behind Dean. His breath brushed the back of Dean’s neck. Dean closed his eyes, gnawed harder on his lip.

 

            The door opened.

 

            “Hey guys,” Sam said. “Brought food.”

 

            Eli stood there for a stretch of long, throbbing, painful seconds. Then he turned around, and walked towards Sam. Dean exhaled and opened his eyes.

 

            “You should keep it down, Sam,” Eli said. “The angel’s sleeping.”

.

.

.

“Come on, man,” Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What is so difficult about us going after the witch, and leaving Eli to look after Cas? It’s what’s logical.”

 

            “I’m not leaving Cas,” Dean repeated, for what felt like the fiftieth time. He picked at the burger Sam had brought. He wasn’t hungry. “You and Eli can go after her. I’ll stay with him.”

            Sam stared at Dean incredulously. He looked at the bathroom door. “Dean, the dude’s in his sixties.”

 

            “Wow, Sam. That seems pretty ageist to me. Look, he’s a hunter that’s lived this long. He’s doing something right. You two go. I stay with Cas. Seems like a great plan to me.”

 

            “I just—I’d feel more comfortable if it was us two. I don’t want Eli to get hurt. Her magic’s strong enough that it worked on Cas.”

 

            Dean stared at Sam darkly. “This isn’t a debate, Sam. I’m telling you, I’m not leaving Cas.”

 

“What the hell is your problem with the guy? Seriously, Dean. He’s a friend and you treat him like you’re going to bite his head off!”

 

“He’s a friend?”

 

“He’s dad’s friend.”

 

“We haven’t seen him in twenty years,” Dean said, shaking his head. He dug his nails into his palm. His temples throbbed. He turned his head away from Sam. He couldn’t stand to see the anger in  Sam’s eyes, ignore the pain in his heart. _Sam doesn’t know_ , he thought gnawing on his lip. _Sam wouldn’t say this if he knew_ . _Sam would understand why I have to stay with Cas if he knew_.

 

But he couldn’t tell Sam. His lips couldn’t form the words.

 

“You wanna go with him? Go. Have a grand ole time. I’m staying here.” Dean crossed his arms and turned his whole body towards Cas. Sam huffed angrily.

 

“You’re a real dick sometimes, y’know?” He grabbed his duffel bag off the ground and slammed the door behind him. Dean flinched, teeth aching. He swallowed and willed himself to relax.

 

Despite all the yelling, Cas was, thankfully, still asleep. Dean tried to find comfort in the fact that at the very least, Cas was okay. He protected Sam from being hurt the way he was hurt; he could protect Cas too. Cas needed him to do this. Sam didn’t understand. That was okay. Sam didn’t need to understand. As long as Dean protected him, knew he had protected Sam, Dean would take Sam’s wrath.

 

Still, the goosebumps on the back of his neck wouldn’t go away.

.

.

.

 

Dean fell asleep. He was awoken by a bright light. He had an awful crick in his neck. The light surrounded Cas. Dean panicked for a moment, until he saw that Cas was getting larger. After a few seconds, the light vanished, and Cas was sitting up. He looked normal.

 

“Hey,” Dean said, grinning. He rubbed at his neck, wincing. His age was starting to become more and more apparent. He used to be able to sleep in chairs like this all the time and it wouldn’t bother him. Now, though. “You feeling okay?”

 

Cas looked better. His face was no longer flushed. Dean leaned closer and he couldn’t feel the heat anymore. Cas stared down at his hands. The coat fit him again--about as well as it did normally, anyways. Dean needed to take him clothes shopping one day.

 

“Yes,” Cas said. He looked at Dean. “I feel normal.”

 

Dean nodded. “Good. Looks like they did it.”

 

Cas stared at him.

 

“Dean,” he said seriously, hand inching over the duvet towards Dean. “What were you and Eli fighting about?”

 

Dean felt the color drain out of his face. “What?”

 

“You two were talking. I think? Fighting.”

 

No. No. Cas was supposed to be asleep. He wasn’t supposed to have heard that. He’d been sleeping--Dean had been sure of it. Sure enough to even talk to Eli about--about that. No. Cas--he couldn’t have heard it. He was sick. Sick and delirious with fever.

 

He didn’t hear anything.

Dean forced his face into something impassive. “You must’ve been dreaming.”

 

Cas frowned. Did that standard, quizzical head tilt. “No. I--I don’t think I was. It was real.”

 

“That’s how dreams feel.”

 

Cas kept staring at him. Dean couldn’t continue to met that gaze--that gaze that always seemed to dig deep under his skin, past muscle and nerves and bone and go straight to his soul. He couldn’t hide anything from Cas. Cas didn’t need to read his mind to know what he was thinking--he just knew.

 

But Cas couldn’t know about this. No one could know about this.

 

Dean pulled out his cell phone. “Should let them know you’re better.” He stood up and dialed Sam, walking towards the bathroom. Cas didn’t follow.

 

.

.

.

 

           

 

On their way back to the bunker, they stopped at a diner. It was past midnight. The lights were harsh. There was a low buzzing noise all over the dining room. Dean pulled Cas into the same booth as him, Dean on the inside and he immediately stared down at the greasy menu.

“Need to keep an eye on this town,” Sam said. “She promised she’d undo all her spells, but I don’t know if I trust her.”

 

“She breaks it, we come back up and kill her,” Dean said, not looking up.

 

“Should’ve killed her then and there,” Eli muttered. “Can’t believe you boys have gone soft.”

 

“She didn’t kill anyone,” Sam said. “And she didn’t really hurt anyone. Not terribly. She breaks bad, we’ll take her out, but I don’t like killing people. Witches aren’t---they’re human. Mostly.”

 

Eli huffed and shook his head. “Can’t believe how much the world has changed these last few years.”

 

“You’d be surprised,” Dean said. The waitress came to take their order. Dean ordered a breakfast platter and a cup of coffee for Cas. Sam got some strange egg-white omelette and Eli ordered a hamburger.

 

“Thought you didn’t eat,” Eli said, staring at Cas.

 

“I don’t.”

 

“But coffee?”

 

“I like the taste.”

 

Eli kept staring at Cas. Then his eyes slide over to Dean. Dean pulled his feet as close to the corner as he could. Sam was looking something up on his phone. Cas’s eyes were on Dean. Quiet. Inquisitive.

 

 

“I like hunting with you boys,” Eli said after a long pause. “You sure do keep it interesting.”

 

_Shut up_ , Dean thought. _Just shut the hell up._ He made a fist, nails biting into the meat of his palms.

 

When their food came out, Dean shoveled it into his mouth. The hash browns were perfectly browned and salty, but the most important thing was that if his mouth was full, no one would pressure him to talk.

 

Sam and Eli kept talking, though. About cases they’d worked over the past few years. Dean tried to block most of it out, but when Eli started talking to Cas, it was impossible not to snap his head up in surprise.

 

“You’re not like any angel I’ve heard about.”

 

“Well, most human scholarship on angels is widely inaccurate. Though, I suppose that’s not your fault. Angels are seclusive.”

 

“No, it ain’t just that. I’ve heard about angels since you guys started hoppin’ back on down to Earth. You have all the power of the cosmos in your fingertips--can wipe an entire town straight off the map and out of memory like a fart-- and you’re here, sipping coffee? With sugar?”

 

Cas blinked slowly. “Would you rather I be like my brothers and sisters? They’re either indifferent towards humanity or utterly callous. They’ll watch you suffer and not offer aide, or they will be the cause of your suffering.” Cas sipped his coffee.

 

Eli watched and huffed. “I think I like you.”

Dean shoved more food into his mouth and licked the grease off his fingers.

“So, where you off to now?” Dean asked, still not looking at Eli.

Eli scoffed. “What do you mean? I’m headed back with you boys.”

 

The food turned sour in Dean’s gut.

 

“You are?”

 

“Hell yeah. I’m not done going through your library yet.”

“Great,” Dean said, gritting his teeth and forcing a smile. “Glad to you have you.”

 

Sam smiled, but Cas kept looking at him curiously, sadly.

 

The drive back to the bunker threatened to drive Dean insane. He forced Cas into the passenger seat beside him. Sam and Eli spoke with one another the entire time, about their lives, about John.

 

“How’d that happen?” Sam asked eventually, motioning towards Eli’s busted nose. It was still badly bruised and crooked. Eli touched it briefly.

 

“That?” he laughed nervously. “Oh. Bad bar fight.” Dean felt Eli’s gaze on him through the leather seats.

 

Dean pressed down harder on the gas pedal.

 

They stopped for gas once. Sam and Eli went inside to use the restrooms and Cas stood beside Dean as he pumped.

 

“I know there’s something going on between you and Eli,” Cas said.

 

Dean swallowed. “I know.” He watched the numbers on the screen click up. He was glad he was using fake credit cards with the way gas prices were these days.

 

“Something bad.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean said. He didn’t look at Cas. “Not here. I’ll--I’ll tell you when we get home. Okay?”

 

Cas paused. “Okay,” he said.

Dean swallowed. Once the gas was done pumping, he got back into the car and rested his head against the steering wheel, fingers white-knuckling the leather. He hadn’t talked about it. Ever. Not to anyone, not even Dad. He inhaled shakily and chewed on his lip. Cas was still outside the car, waiting for Sam and Eli.

 

He was going to do this. Talk about it. He’d never talked about it with anyone, ever. Not even Dad.

 

He glanced briefly at Cas through the window, stomach unknotting only slightly. Cas was his best friend. Cas---Cas wouldn’t judge him. He could trust Cas.

 

The trio finally got back into the car. Dean started the engine and let the rumble drown out his worried thoughts for the rest of the drive.

.

.

.

 

When they got back home, Dean went straight into the shower. He was dirty and sweaty from the drive, but also, he needed to prepare himself. He sat there under the spray long after the hot water went out. He let the icy cold water hit his skin and he shuddered until finally--finally he forced himself out. He dried off and got into his pajamas and then made the trek to his room. He heard Sam and Eli pouring over books in the library and he had to fight down the nausea that clawed at his throat. He went into his room and shut the door. He sat on the bed, back braced against the headboard and he waited.

Cas came into his room just a few minutes later.  He shut the door behind him, gazing at him softly, but calculatingly. But there was that depth and understanding Dean couldn’t ever find anywhere else; not even with Sam. Cas never looked at him with judgement or scorn. Cas sat down at the end of Dean’s bed, still with that sad stare Dean couldn’t pull away from.

 Cas wouldn’t pressure him to talk. If he backed out now--Cas wouldn’t push. He’d understand and would back off if Dean told him to.

 

But Dean needed to talk. He opened his mouth. His throat was dry.

           

“He molested me,” Dean said. Tears stung at his eyes. “I was a kid, and he—” Dean swallowed. “More than once. I—I didn’t know what to do. Who I could tell. You know we never stayed in one spot for more than a few weeks. But he was always there. Always would magically show up on the next hunt. There to save the day! It’s no wonder Sam looked up to him, thinking he was some magic superhero or something, but y’know, Sam never questioned why we always happened to be on the same hunts all the time. I think he was following us.” Following me, Dean left unsaid.

 

Dean couldn’t look at Cas. He plucked at a loose thread on the bedsheets.

 

Thinking of the memories meant reliving everything.

“I was sick. . . “

.

.

.

“He can’t go on a hunt like this,” John whispered roughly. Dean lay miserably in the bed, clutching at his stomach. Every few minutes he was hit with a wave of nausea and he would spasm uncomfortably, muscles clenching. Sweat pooled at his forehand, but despite that, he was freezing, shivering under two extra thick blankets, teeth chattering inside his head.

 

“What do you want to do?” Eli asked.

 

“Stay with him?” John asked. Dean was coherent enough to recognize that there was no malice in John’s tone. “In case he gets worse, you can take him to a hospital. I haven’t seen him this sick since he was a baby.”

“You sure? What about the hunt?”

 

“I can’t leave it, not while it’s still out there killing campers. There’s supposed to be a scout trip in a few weeks. Besides, it’s not my first wendigo. I can handle it. Flamethrower to the face. Not that hard. Hell, if the thing’s where I think it is, I’ll be back before sunrise.”

 

There was a long pause. “All right. Sure, I’ll stay with him.”

 

John sighed. “Thanks Eli. You know, it’s great that I can trust you.”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

John walked to the bed. The floor creaked under his movements, and his boots squeaked with every step. He ran his fingers through Dean’s hair.

 

“I’ll be back before you know it,” John said. “Just go to sleep. Eli is here to help you out. Okay?”

 

Dean nodded. “Okay,” he said, voice thick. He could feel the phlegm in his lungs. It sat thick at the very back of his throat. He turned his head towards the pillow and coughed violently--ribs aching with the movement.

 

“If he gets worse, call me.”

 

“You don’t gotta worry about a thing, John. He’s in good hands.”

 

Dad left. Time became meaningless to Dean. He slipped in and out of consciousness. In and out of dreams; the smell of Mom’s perfume, the taste of her apple pie on his tongue. Dad reading him stories. Mom and Dad fighting. The heat of the fire. The weight of Sam in his arms. Flashes of Interstates flew by, trees and the sound of traffic.

 

There were other dreams too. The smell of gunpowder and blood. Hunting in the woods. The roar of the Impala’s engine during the middle of the night, across an empty highway. Eclectic billboards the only landmark for miles.

 

Dean woke up blearily when the bed creaked and lowered with extra weight. His vision was blurry with fever and fatigue, but he could smell Eli’s cologne. He wore too much. Dean coughed.

 

“Hey kiddo,” Eli asked with an exaggerated frown. “How’re you feelin’?”

 

In response, Dean moaned. His stomach lurched.

 

“I know.” Eli curled his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean flinched and shuddered. It didn’t feel the same as when Dad did it. Something was wrong.

 

Eli’s other hand went under the blankets and towards Dean. It started at the top of his spine and slowly moved down.

 

“What’re you doing?” Dean mumbled. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

 

“Shh,” Eli said. His hand stopped at the base of Dean’s spine. It stayed there for a long moment, and then, it dipped underneath the waistband of his boxers.

 

Dean froze. He didn’t know what to do. How to react. Wasn’t quite sure if this was even happening, or if he was imagining it. Just another part of the bad, fever induced dreams.

But Eli’s hand was warm and it was touching him, touching him in intimate places, and he froze. Froze like he did with the vampires. Dean buried his face in the pillow and bite down on it, tremors taking over his body. They’d told him about this in his health classes--what this was. What he was supposed to do. But he was frozen.

 

“Shh,” Eli said, continuing. Dean felt something pressing against his thigh--Eli had taken his pants off, and Dean shuddered harder, tears starting to burn at his eyes as the fingers kept moving against his skin. Touching him. Time seemed to stop.

 

Then the door opened. All the air was sucked out of the room. For a long moment, Dean existed in some other plane, where it was only him, it’d only ever been him, it would only ever be him. It only lasted for a second.

 

The bed creaked. The weight lifted off.

 

“John,” Eli said. “It’s--it’s not what it looks like.”

 

Dean kept his face pressed against the pillow, not daring to move, holding his breath tight in his chest, despite the pain.

 

“Get the hell over here,” John growled. Dean heard footsteps, scuffling, Eli still speaking, but he couldn’t make out the words. Dad said nothing--all Dean heard from him was that same animalistic growl.

 

Dean stayed still. He didn’t know how long. Eventually, though, he heard John’s footsteps return.

 

“Dean.” John’s voice was quiet, and all the earlier anger was gone. John touched his shoulder gently. “Dean, come with me.”

 

Dean couldn’t refuse his father’s orders. He pushed himself into a sitting position, and took John’s hand. Dirt and dried blood was smudged across John’s face.

 

Dean had to lean against John to make it to the car, weak with fever and fatigue. He sat in the passenger seat. He didn’t ask where they were going. John didn’t speak either. Dean stayed quiet, every so often coughing, as Dad drove and drove and drove. The city disappeared, making way for the expanse of the countryside, large thickets of woods and backroads. John took a turn down a back road and drove for ten more minutes, the woods growing thicker and darker.

 

John stopped. He turned the engine off. He didn’t look at Dean.

 

“Was that the first time he’s touched you?”

 

Tears started to burn at Dean’s eyes. “No,” he said, hoarsely, with shame, and he started gnawing at a cuticle.

 

John chewed on his lips. He nodded. He popped his lips. “Okay,” he said. “Wait here. Watch.”

 

John exited the car. He walked back towards the trunk. There was screaming. The car rocked. Dean looked in the side mirror and saw John pulling Eli out of the trunk by the shirt collar. Eli still didn’t have pants. John dragged Eli to the front of the car. In front of Dean.

 

John threw Eli to the ground and stomped on him, hard. Dean flinched.

 

“You son of a bitch,” John growled. “How dare you.”

 

He picked Eli up and punched him. Dean heard the crunch from inside the car. Eli’s face was painted with blood. Eli covered his broken nose and John hit him again.

 

“I trusted you!”

It went over for over a minute. John kicking, hitting Eli; picking him up then throwing him to the ground. Eli was a mess of blood, mud, and bruises. Then, John grabbed Eli by the shirt collar one last time and slammed him against a tree trunk; his face was flushed with rage, lips curled over his teeth.

 

“Don’t you _ever_ come near us again,” he said. He let go and Eli slide to the ground. He coughed and blood bubbled out his mouth in thick, meaty globs.

 

John stared at him in disgust. He spat, then wiped his hands on his jeans. He turned and got back into the Impala. He turned the engine on and turned the car around. They went back to the motel. They didn’t speak the entire time. Once John parked the Impala, he helped Dean back into the motel, helped him back into bed.

 

Dean was aware of John staring at him.

 

Neither said anything.

 

 

.

.

.

 

“We never talked about it,” Dean told Cas. “After that night, he never brought it up. Never asked questions. We never spoke about Eli after that. Sam, he would ask about him. All the time, for a while. Dad would evade. Just say, he didn’t know where Eli was. But eventually, Sam stopped too. Realized bringing up Eli only pissed Dad off. After that, Dad really tried to steer clear of other hunters. Except for Bobby, we stayed out of their way.”

 

He couldn’t bear to look at Cas. Couldn’t bear to see what might be in Cas’s eyes.

 

“Sam still doesn’t know?” Cas asked.

 

Dean shook his head; he was incapable of forming the words. “Sam still looks up to him. And--and I don’t know what to do.” It hurt. It hurt to know that Sam admired that son of a bitch. Dean’s nightmare paraded around the bunker, what was supposed to be his sanctuary, and Sam looked up to him. Was star struck over the bastard. And here Dean was, still pissing his pants at just being in the same room as the bastard.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean. That never should have happened to you.”

 

Cas’s hand moved over Dean’s. Dean finally looked at Cas. There was sadness, boiled over something else Dean couldn’t decipher; that same, foreign alieness that still came over Cas sometimes, that not even Dean could begin to understand.

 

“I could’ve stopped it,” Dean said. He swallowed. “Said something. Fought him.” He let it happen. Laid there and let it happen. Kept his mouth shut.

 

“You were a child. It’s not the responsibility of children to protect themselves from adults. He hurt you, Dean. That’s on him. Not you.”

 

Dean didn’t know how to respond to that. “Now,” he said instead, “he’s here. In our home. I thought I escaped him.”

 

“He won’t hurt you ever again,” Cas said. His voice was oddly monotonous; a tone Dean hadn’t heard from Cas in years. Even if Cas wasn’t the most expressive person on the planet, his voice nearly always gave away what he was thinking. Dean couldn’t make out anything. Cas brushed his fingertips against Dean’s forehead. Dean relished the familiar sense of serenity that washed through him--and he welcomed the darkness that suffocated him.

.

.

.

Cas stared at Dean for a few moments. Asleep, he looked peaceful; that ever present frown was gone, and the rigidity he held himself with gave way to limpness. Cas stared at Dean, and thought of what Dean told him.

 

Dean’s soul was beautiful, but Cas had seen the changes Eli brought to it. Whenever he was near, Dean’s soul shrunk in fear. Despite everything Dean had been through, Dean’s soul was still pure; untarnished by all the ugly it had suffered, on Earth and in Hell.

 

It wasn’t right for Dean to be afraid. Castiel waited there for a long moment, Dean’s story replaying in his head. Anyone who hurt a child was damned for Hell. It was one of his Father’s oldest decrees. The children of Man were his children too, and they held a special place in His heart. Harming a child was an act of Lucifer. There was no surer way to get to Hell. Eli would pay for his sins, eventually.

But for now, Castiel wanted his piece in on the hurting.

 

Dean would be asleep for at least a few hours. Castiel pulled off Dean’s slippers and carefully placed them by the bed. Castiel pulled the blanket over Dean, tucking it underneath him; then, he left the room.

 

He stormed down the hallway, following Sam and Eli’s voices. They sat in the library room. Cas didn’t say anything as he descended the small set of stairs. He didn’t say anything when Sam looked his way and greeted him with a soft smile. He walked towards Eli and grabbed him by the back of his collar. Effortlessly, he hoisted Eli up and slammed him against the bookshelves. The books rattled--some fell off, landing on the ground with loud _thunks_.

 

“Cas!” Sam shouted, but Castiel ignored him, the blood roaring in his ears. Eli sputtered and struggled, but he couldn’t slip free of Castiel’s grasp.

 

“Give me one reason,” Castiel said without intonation, voice a low, animalistic growl; he lamented the limitations of this human form; his inability to draw on the true power of his voice, without harming Sam. He didn’t care if he hurt Eli or not, but he couldn’t bear to harm Sam. “Why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

 

“Cas, what the hell! Are you crazy?” Sam tugged at his arms, but it was futile. Castiel was immobile, a stone wall. Cas continued to glare at Eli; at the broken nose courtesy of John Winchester. “Cas, let him go!”

 

“Answer me,” Castiel said, ignoring Sam. He slammed Eli against the shelves again. Books rattled and fell to the floor, kicking up dust up into the air.

 

“What the hell are you talking about? Sam, get your goddamned rabid angel off me!”

 

“The fuck? Seriously, Cas! Let go!”

 

“He hurt Dean,” Cas snapped, turning to Sam. Sam stared at him wide-eyed and mouth agape.

 

“What? Hurt Dean how? When?”

 

Cas’s throat tightened. “I can’t tell you. It’s not my right to tell you. But he hurt Dean, and he needs to leave.” Cas turned back to Eli. He could see the darkened patches that matted his soul. “Dean’s not the only one you’ve hurt. You’ve hurt others, haven’t you?” Castiel’s eyes started to burn blue with his grace. The power of Heaven ran through his bones like a river.

 

“Call him off, Sam!”

 

“Wait. Wait,” Sam said, swallowing. The panic left his voice. He looked at Eli, eyes cold and hard. “What’s he talking about?”

 

“How the bloody hell should I know? Your angel’s crazy.”

 

“Did you hurt Dean?”

 

“Of course I haven’t! What, you’re gonna take the angel’s word over mine? The fucking halo’s? It ain’t human. Can’t trust a damn word outta its’ mouth.”

 

Sam huffed. He folded his arms. It was incredible how quickly Sam’s body language changed. Now it was protective against Castiel. “Answer his question.”

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t ‘what’ me. Answer his damn question. Did you hurt others?”

 

“I haven’t hurt anybody! For Christ’s sake, Sam! You know me. You’ve known me since you were a kid. I’ve never hurt anyone. Never touched anything that wasn’t a monster. How the hell can you take this _thing’s_ word over mine?”

 

He was lying. Castiel didn’t need to read Eli’s mind to know that; it was in Eli’s eyes. The twitch of his lips, the way his nostrils fidgeted.

 

“First of all,” Sam said, his voice dark and aggressive, “Cas is family. So you’re gonna stop talking about him like he’s an object. Second of all, I haven’t seen you in twenty years, so that whole--we’ve known each other forever thing--it’s wrong. You can drop it right the hell now, ‘cause it’s not gonna get you any leverage. In fact, it’s just gonna piss me off. Cas is family, you’re not, okay? So, don’t waste your breath trying to play that card. Now, you’re gonna tell me how you hurt Dean.”

 

“I’ve never hurt Dean!” He started to kick his legs wildly. Cas pinned them with his knees against the shelf. “I’ve saved Dean’s skin more times than I can count!”

 

Sam looked at Cas. With their eyes, they were able to communicate an entire conversation.

 

“Get the hell out of our home,” Sam said. “Don’t you ever come near us again.”

 

Cas dropped Eli. He slumped to the floor, clutching at his throat. He coughed and sputtered, face flushed and eyes watering. He looked up from his spot on the floor at Sam and Cas, glaring. His throat was already starting to bruise. Castiel touched Eli’s forehead. Eli yelped and jumped back in pain, hitting his head against the bookshelf.

 

“If you ever hurt anyone again,” Castiel said, “I will know. I’ve just placed a mark on you. Thinking of it like,” Castiel rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Angel GPS. There’s no place you can run that I won’t follow. If you hurt anyone again, especially how you’ve hurt others, I will take care of you myself.”

 

“You can’t do this to me, Sam,” he said, voice hoarse and on the verge of tears. “You can’t trust a word that comes outta this thing’s mouth. You hear what it’s just said? You really gonna let it threaten me like that? Sam, we’re best buds, remember? All those magic tricks? You’re my buddy, not this thing. Angels--they’re worse than demons.”

 

“And people are worse than all of them,” Sam said. He pointed to the large metal door that rested on the balcony. Sam paused. “Get your shit and get the hell out!” he screamed. “Don’t leave a fucking hair behind.”

.

.

.

 

It was night time when Dean woke up. There were no windows in the bunker, but he could tell from his internal clock. He felt more well-rested than he had in the past several days.

 

He told Cas. He told Cas everything.

 

Dean swallowed.

 

He couldn’t hide in his room forever, no matter how much he wished he could. He wished he could just stay in bed forever, until the memory foam swallowed him whole and they became one.

 

He forced himself off the bed. He was freezing. He grabbed his robe off the coat rack and put it on over his pajamas. He left his room.

 

He could already tell something was off. The whole atmosphere of the bunker was different. The air didn’t feel as suffocating. Dean walked down the hallway, his socked feet nearly soundless against the floor. He made it to the kitchen, where he could smell food cooking. Dean stood in the doorway for a while. Sam was by the stove, stirring a pot, and Cas was sitting in a chair at the table.

 

Cas looked over his shoulder. “Dean,” he said, standing up. He stared at Dean for a while. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine.” Dean shifted on his feet. He glanced behind him. “Where’s Eli?”

 

Sam stopped stirring the pot. “Gone.” Sam said.

 

Dean looked at Cas, his guts twisting hot and tight. Did Cas tell Sam? Did Sam know? Sam wasn’t supposed to know.

 

Sam ladled soup into a bowl and carried it to the table. “Eat,” he said. Dean glanced between the bowl of soup and Cas’s careful gaze. There wasn’t guilt there; and Sam didn’t seem to be acting any different.

 

Reluctantly, Dean sat down at the table. He shifted uncomfortably. But the soup smelled good, at least. His stomach growled, and Dean realized it’d been days since he had a decent meal. “Thanks,” he said to Sam, but he couldn’t raise his eyes to meet Sam’s.

 

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Cas said, and then he disappeared down the hallway before Dean could protest. Sam sat down in front of Dean with his own bowl. They ate for several awkward seconds. Finally, Dean couldn’t take it anymore.

 

“What’d he tell you?”

 

“Cas? Nothing.”

 

Dean’s spoon clanked against the bowl. “What?”

 

“Cas came into the library more pissed off than I’ve ever seen him, and he knocked the shit out of Eli--all he would tell me was that Eli hurt you, but wouldn’t say how or when. Said it wasn’t his place to tell. But apparently, whatever Eli did to you, he did to others.”

 

Knowing Cas hadn’t betrayed his trust, Dean relaxed marginally. He took a tentative bite of the soup. It wasn’t bad, for Sam’s cooking.

 

Sam stared at him.

 

Dean cleared his throat. “Cas really beat the shit out of him?”

 

“Grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the bookshelf. Screamed at him, threatened to kill him--the whole nine yards.”

 

Dean huffed. He smiled slightly. “Wish I coulda seen that.”

 

Sam frowned and leaned across the table. “What did he do, Dean? I mean. . . all this time, I’ve been ogling him, and you’ve been scared out of your mind of the guy. How bad do I need to feel?”

 

Dean shook his head. “You don’t have anything to feel bad about.” Dean meant it. As upsetting as it was to see Sam and Eli interacting so positively, it was never Sam’s fault. Sam hadn’t been there that night. And he’d never known. Dean couldn’t blame Sam for what he didn’t know.

 

Sam kept staring at him, his own food forgotten. It made Dean hyperconscious and it became a struggle to swallow down his own food.

 

“He, um. . . “ Dean licked his lips. He couldn’t believe he was going to tell this story again, for the second time in just a few hours. After having kept it secret for so long. “When we were kids, he. . . he touched me.” He purposely avoided Sam’s eye, spinning his spoon into the now-cold soup.

 

The words kept tumbling out of his mouth. He was almost unaware of what he was saying. The story playing out again.

 

When he finished, he avoided looking at Sam’s eyes for several long seconds. When he did finally muster the courage, he could see Sam was fighting back tears.

 

“Dean,” Sam said, voice tight and hot. Sam looked like he was about to say something--his mouth opened and his tongue started to curl, but he suddenly stopped. Paused. Then, “Thank you for telling me.”

 

Dean huffed. “It doesn’t matter. It--it was forever ago.”

 

“Of course it matters,” Sam said, eyebrows scrunching. “What happened was--”

 

“Look,” Dean said, standing up. “It’s over. He’s gone. You know. We don’t need to talk about it anymore, okay?”

 

Sam stared at him. “Okay.”

 

“Great. I’m gonna go to bed. Thanks for dinner.” Dean took his bowl, still half full and put it in the sink. He slipped past Sam again and went to his bedroom.

 

He closed the door and pressed his back against it. Then, he sent out a prayer to Cas: _Please come here. I need you._

 

Less than a minute later, Cas was knocking on his door. Dean opened it and tugged Cas in by the sleeve before shutting the door.

 

He didn’t know what came over him. He had Cas pressed against the wall, and then he was kissing Cas. Soft and slow, like he was a middle schooler again. Once Cas realized what was happening, he began to return the kiss, matching Dean’s pace. He tasted like honey.

 

Dean broke the kiss a few seconds later, hand knotted into Cas’s tie.

 

“Thank you,” Dean said, eyes closed. “For what you did.”

 

“I will always protect you,” Cas said, breath brushing against the shell of Dean’s ear.

 

Dean huffed.

 

“Tell me how it went down.”

 

Cas spoke closely against Dean’s ear. Dean could feel the vibrations of Cas’s voice against his ear drum. Cas spoke of how he slammed Eli against the bookshelf, how Eli struggled like a worm on a hook.

 

“If he ever hurts anyone again,” Cas said, “I will hunt him down myself.”

 

“Mm,” Dean said, unable to help the grin, “that’s right, talk dirty to me.”

 

Cas started to walk forward, pushing Dean backwards against the bed. “If he ever comes near either you or Sam again, I will end him.”

 

Dean figured it was wrong that he got such pleasure from imagining Eli’s demise. He fantasized what Cas must have looked like beating Eli up; if it was anything like when Dad beat the shit out of him all those years ago. Dad beat him so bad Eli still carried the wounds around.

 

He imagined Cas’s eyes glowing blue, electricity crackling around him.

 

He thought about everything Cas had done for him. Everything Cas would do for him. Falling from Heaven. Turning against his brothers and sisters, everything he’d ever known for the last few gazaliion years, all because Dean _asked_ him to. Letting Lucifer possess him. Killing the monster from his childhood.

 

Cas was--was so much. Dean could barely comprehend him even on the good days, and after almost losing him last year--after thinking he had lost Cas to Lucifer, thinking he’d never get Cas back--

 

“Stop talking about him,” Dean said. He turned on his side and he began to kiss Cas again, slowly and softly. “I don’t care about him.” He just cared about Sam and Cas. He had Cas back. He wasn’t going to screw it up again.

 

“Now that I’m complaining,” Cas managed to say, in-between Dean’s gentle assaults, “but what brought this on.”

 

Dean paused and caught his breath. “I just really love you,” he said.

 

Cas smiled. “I love you too.”

 

Dean lost track of time, so attuned to Cas’s presence that everything else vanished. It was just Cas beside him, warm and solid; his rock. Before, he only needed Sam. As long as Sam was okay, he could be okay. But that wasn’t the truth anymore. He needed Sam _and_ Cas. What he and Cas had was different than anything else Dean ever had with anyone before. Cas was nestled inside his heart now, right next to Sam, and there was no coming back from that, ever. This last year proved that.

 

What Cas was willingly to do for him. . . Dean couldn’t believe that an angel could love him. He couldn’t believe that he loved an angel. The lengths they were willing to go for one another. . .

 

“You know,” Dean said, sleep edging in on him, “you were pretty cute as a kid.”

 

“Dean, shut up.”

 

Dean smiled. He fell asleep beside Cas, relaxed and eased in a way he hadn’t been since before his Mom died.

 

.

.

.

 

He spent the next few days cleaning every inch of the bunker, floor to ceiling. Every surface he scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until his knuckles were raw.

 

Sam and Cas worked with him wordlessly, without questions. Any part of the bunker that Eli may have touched, Dean cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. He stripped the sheets from the spare bedroom and took them down to the furnace. He stood with his hands in his pockets and watched the fabric char to a heinous black, shrinking within the flames until they dissolved into ash.

 

Cas came down and stood beside him, his presence warm and solid. He didn’t say anything until the fire burned out and the smell of smoke lingered in the air. It mixed with the smell of bleach and dusting spray that wafted off Cas into something that made Dean’s nose twitch uncomfortably.

 

“How are you feeling, Dean?”

 

Dean gnawed on his lip. A weight he hadn’t known he was carrying had been lifted off his shoulders. An anchor around his heart vanished. He felt lighter, somehow. Something that had been a part of him for nearly his entire life was gone, and he was better for it.

 

“I’m,” Dean started, and stopped. He sighed and turned to Cas, searching in the electric blue eyes for the words. “I’m better,” he eventually settled for.

 

The bunker had been disinfected of his presence. There was absolutely nothing left to prove he’d once been here, in Dean’s home.

 

Dean wouldn’t have to see him ever again. The memories were still there, raw and painful even after all this time. But Dean wasn’t a little kid anymore, and he wasn’t suffering alone. Dad and Cas had kicked the fucker’s ass. Dean’s heart fluttered at the thought.

 

Dean paused, and then reached out and looped his fingers through Cas’s. He still couldn’t believe he was allowed this sort of intimacy with Cas. It still felt unreal, like he was trapped in a dream.

 

But Cas’s hand was warm; his skin was, aggravatingly, free of calluses, soft, tender. This was real.

 

Dean swallowed and then exhaled slowly. Cas squeezed his hand in reassurance.

 

“Dean,” Cas said, gently tugging on Dean’s hand. “Let’s go.” Dean let Cas lead him back up the stairs. Cas shut the door behind them and it locked automatically.

 

Dean turned away from the door. Then, he threw himself against Cas--kissing, still slow and gentle, but with all the love he had in his heart.

 

“Seriously, guys?” Sam said, passing by. He covered his eyes with his hand and turned around. “Do you have to do that here?”

 

Dean flipped Sam off. “Get used to it, bitch.”

 

Dean already knew he was going to get used to it surprisingly quick.

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Graphics for Hell is for Children](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253116) by [DarkHeartInTheSky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/pseuds/DarkHeartInTheSky), [lotrspnfangirlgraphics (lotrspnfangirl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrspnfangirl/pseuds/lotrspnfangirlgraphics)




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